


In My Veins

by substitute-doll (LordVae)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, I also really like the take care of your sick friend trope, I started writing this before ep 26 so now yall have to suffer, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordVae/pseuds/substitute-doll
Summary: "Caleb had fire under his skin and in his veins, burning his chest and his ears and his fingers. He could barely sleep without the fever dreams trying to steal his mind away and take him into the dark. He could barely breathe. His body shook in a false cold, he could feel it, he could feel his hands and shoulders tremble, he could hear his lungs rattling with imaginary ice."Caleb falls severely ill on a long journey, and the Nein take care of him the best they can. It's rough, and he is almost lost many a time. But he is not alone.





	In My Veins

He is cold, yet he is hot. There is fire burning under his skin, but his body shakes and trembles in imaginary cold.

They had been on the road for days now, maybe a week, maybe nearing on two nowhere close to a township. They had to keep going - it wouldn't be beneficial to turn around. They hoped there would be somewhere soon. That was the dream for the last three days, as Caleb's fever got worse and worse.

He'd been fine the first half of the journey. He'd been more active, even. More conversational. Bantering politely with Jester and Molly, helping Fjord with carrying camping gear from the wagons. Yasha, Beau, and Nott were all being taught something about something. Flowers, clouds, trees, they were told something about it. Caleb had been the liveliest he'd been in a long time.

Though in retrospect, they should have caught on that he wasn't being himself along with this burst of optimism. He was eating less, sleeping more. Staring absently at his book or scribbling nonsense into page corners. When they'd set up camp, Caleb would either go wander for a long while and come back as everyone was settling down, or would go and lay right down beside the fire and stay there, only moving to get comfortable.

It was during a particularly cool early morning that Caleb didn't wake up as everyone else did during an ambush. He lay still, lost in sleep as the combat burst around him. It was fine, of course - Mollymauk had recognized some of these bandits (again) and sent them off. Nott was the first at Caleb's side, angrily shaking him at first, asking him why he didn't get up, before the anger faded into concern as Caleb didn't so much as twitch at her attempts at rousing him. The goblin girl's hand went to his face and she called out to Jester, panicky, saying he felt hot to the touch and he wasn't waking up.

Jester couldn't figure out what to do. Her spells were doing little, and Caleb remained unconscious, picking up a tremble as Yasha scooped up the small man and settled him gently into the makeshift nest Beau made in the cart wagon. He was breathing steadily, and his eyes drifted open and he mumbled softly as Mollymauk would pour small amounts of water down his throat, but the sickness held its grip and kept him firmly anchored just out of consciousness. During the night, Fjord would bring Caleb to the edge of the fire and take watch beside him and to press a damp rag against his head.

They kept travelling, and a somber quiet had taken over everyone as they wracked their brains to figure out when Caleb began to act abnormal, why they didn't think anything of it, why he hadn't told anyone he was feeling ill. They took turns trying to feed and give him drink, but Mollymauk and Nott were the self-appointed ones in charge of it. He would always wake up just enough to eat a little bit or swallow water, but just as quickly as he was awake he'd drift back off. He was stable and consistently like this for about three days - asleep, never fully awake. His fever never went down for long before it sprung back up again. There was a lull, until one night in a small clearing he woke the group up screaming.

Fjord was the first at his side, as he still sat watch with Caleb next to him. He was shaking violently, one hand gripping at his chest and the other's fingers digging into the grass and dirt. He was wailing in his mothertongue, chest heaving, eyes half open but eyes rolled back, vulnerable and caught in the grips of sleep. Everyone gathered around him, Mollymauk pulling his head into his lap and holding it firmly, while Jester and Nott held onto his hands to keep him from hurting himself.

Caleb's body writhed at the touches and his wails and cries became whimpers, whatever nightmare plaguing him beginning to fade as his friends - family - were speaking soft words of soothing. Even in his fevered state, the words reached him, gentle and welcome against his warring mind, and after a long while of senseless mutterings and whines, he let out a soft groan before passing back out. He remained still for the rest of the night and into the morning, breathing picking up a hitch and hands gaining a tremble. He wouldn't even wake up to eat or drink.

Now, the group was working the horses to their limit, desperately trying to get to a town or village, somewhere that could help their Caleb.

-

Caleb had fire under his skin and in his veins, burning his chest and his ears and his fingers. He could barely sleep without the fever dreams trying to steal his mind away and take him into the dark. He could barely breathe. His body shook in a false cold, he could feel it, he could feel his hands and shoulders tremble, he could hear his lungs rattling with imaginary ice. He could hear and feel his friends, talking to him quietly, brushing his hair, trying to get a response out of him. Caleb desperately tried to fight the grip of illness holding his head under the surface. He knew he should not have kept it a secret. He'd been fighting it the first leg of travel on his own, until he let himself slip, and he couldn't swim back to shore. It was pulling him deeper into its dark lull, enticing him with how easy it would be to just succumb to slumber.

Oh, how easy.

He almost let himself go a few nights ago. He felt Fjord lift him and lay him beside the fire, and the warmth was so sweet and beckoning. He almost let himself fade into that soft, deceptive dream promising salvation. He caught its lies, though, and its softness became jagged and sharp, piercing him with such pain and heat he could barely breathe, as if ash were filling his lungs. He felt his body jolting, and couldn't figure out control, until his friends' words sang a soft tune through his ears. It created a war of pain and peace within his warring, sickness-ridden body. The nightmare was threatening to yank him into depths unrecoverable, but the song of his family wrapped itself around him in a desperate grasp. The sharpness of the dream began to cease after the battle was won by his friends, and eventually, he fell headfirst into sleep. It was an empty slumber, and it was long. He could assume days. He slept without fit, the expanse of dreams being kept at bay. After how long, he found himself able to force open his eyes and move his lips, if only for a moment.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark, and he was covered by a lavender-smelling coat. Beside him, offering warmth, was Mollymauk, lying on his back and gazing at the sky. He managed a soft cough, twitched his fingers over Molly's wrist, managed to wheeze out "sorry" and "don't worry." The tiefling jerked up, nails scraping against the wagon wood, and he reached out to touch his forehead. 

"Caleb? Oh - your fever, it's - " Molly's voice faded out as the strain dragged him back into familiar territory of dreamless sleep.

He was roused out of this dreamless slumber not too much later. His body felt less like fire and more like a smoldering ember, and the grip of illness was allowing his head to bob into consciousness. He was being picked up and carried out of the wagon, and he heard someone nearby say something about "you're lucky he hasn't died yet" and "he's been like this for how long?!" just before he was laid down on something cool and soft.

Caleb tried to will himself into speaking, but failed, and he began dozing as a comforting touch found itself on his chest. A small hand gripped onto his, Nott, he assumed. A moment passed and a warmth and pressure pulsated out from the touch that spread over his body. He involuntarily let out a soft gasp and the lingering hold of illness faded, the heat in his veins draining and the fake ice in his lungs melting. For the first time in days, he wasn't on fire, and he wasn't shaking, and he didn't have to fight against dark depths trying to pull him into nothingness. He let out a long, deep exhale, and finally, he managed to slip into a peaceful doze.

Caleb next awoke that night. His eyes fluttered open. It was dark in the room, moonlight drifting in through the windows on the far wall. A fire was roaring sleepily in its fireplace, beginning to die out as the night trudged on. He quietly reached up and brushed his hand against his forehead, shifting a bit to sit up, and glancing down at a figure weighing his legs down. Upon squinting, it was Nott, curled up at his feet, cuddling one of his legs. He rubbed his eyes and gazed across the room. His heart ached as he realized he had the only bed in the room. On the floor, everyone was sleeping in a pile in a bundle of blankets. Beau and Mollymauk were laying side by side, looking like they'd fallen asleep talking. Jester was curled up against Fjord's arm, and Fjord's back was pressed against Yasha's.

"Ah..." Caleb let out a soft chuckle, gazing fondly down at his friends - his family. He still felt a bit woozy, but found himself being awake for a little bit, and he felt his eyes watering as feeling of affection spread across his chest. He sat here awake, crying quietly into his hands, but they were not tears of sadness. They were of relief, of gratitude. They didn't abandon him, they didn't give up on him. They held onto him and didn't let go or run, unlike the many times he wanted to.

Caleb Widogast cried quietly to himself in the dead of night, full of love and full of thankfulness. They hadn't given up on him.

He wiped his eyes and sniffed, and he eased back down on the pillow.

"I will not give up on you, either."


End file.
